The Storm Before the Rainbow
by ninja-curry-girl
Summary: The war is won. The Titans have been defeated. Most of the demigods have been claimed ... but what about Butch?
1. Chapter 1

Butch wanted to be a ballet dancer. There was no doubt about it.

They always said he'd end up at the Ares cabin for sure. With his big arms and well-defined pectoral muscles, and his seemingly aggressive nature, he _had_ to be the son of the war god, right?

Butch stared at his own shirtless reflection. He had heard campers whisper about his face. It looked like a pile of bricks, one had said. He ran his hand across his chin. Surely he couldn't be that ugly. He shook his head and slapped his cheek. He wasn't standing alone in the Cabin 11 bathroom to complain about his appearance. He had a job to do.

The war was over; Percy Jackson had saved the day once again. The unclaimed campers were being claimed one by one, and construction on the Hades and Iris cabins had already begun. Butch was one of the few remaining campers who had yet to receive a sign from their parent. Being a homeless orphan, Butch didn't even know the gender of his godly parent. But the last person he wanted it to be was Ares. He could never believe that he could ever be related to that loud, arrogant war god. He was great with horses, but any hope of him being the son of Poseidon had been dashed long ago. If there was anyone suitable to be his godly parent, Butch often thought, it would be Apollo. Butch was skilful artist and worked with colours very well. But something about the god still didn't sit right with him.

Butch stepped back from the mirror and lifted his chin high. He pulled his feet together and pushed his toes outwards, heels firmly on the ground. At the same time, he gracefully lifted his arms and held them out parallel to his chest. He took a deep breath. Slowly, he lifted one foot off the ground, slowly moving it up the inside of his shin until it was just above his knee. That was the easy part.

Butch closed his eyes. He sent a silent prayer to whichever god or goddess had helped create him, and waited. He could only do this when the time was right. If it were too early – or too late – everything would go horribly wrong.

The sound of shuffling feet was muffled by the door. The sound got louder and louder. Butch's eyes were still closed, but he could _feel_ the shadows under the doorway. His breathing got faster. Not now! They couldn't come now. The time wasn't right! His eyes flashed open, and immediately he realised that was a mistake. His face had ruined everything. The camper's voice played over in his head: _face like a pile of bricks_. He had to do it. He had to do it _now_. The time wasn't right, but it was now or never. Hastily, the only heel he had planted on the ground was lifted into the air and Butch sent himself into a pirouetting frenzy. One turn, two turns, wobbling, wobbling; he was losing his balance. On the third turn he lost track of his fixed point of viewing, and he began to feel dizzy.

Butch was on the ground when he regained consciousness. Parts of the sink were on the ground with him, and water was spraying on his head. There was a sharp, throbbing pain in his lower back, and blood trickled down his hand. Butch shook his head and looked towards the doorway. It was open, with what seemed like half the camp's population gaping at him.

"What?" Butch grunted. He tried to push himself up, but his knees buckled under him and he came crashing to the tiles again. Great. He couldn't walk, his hands were bleeding, and his spine had probably screwed itself up. Not to mention he'd busted the sink in his cabin. He had no close friends in camp, but now no one even wanted to go near him.

Butch rubbed his temples and looked hopelessly at the gathered crowd. And that was when he realised it. The campers were staring at _him_. They were staring at something else . . . something behind him? Butch looked back, but all there was to see were a few broken tiles. He observed the crowd again. No, it wasn't behind, but . . . above. They were looking at the space above his head!

Butch's head shot up. There _was_ something there. It was like a hologram, radiating a soft light around it. The clarity of the image was wavering, so it took Butch a while to figure out what it actually was. It was an arc of many colours, shimmering in the air above him. A rainbow.

Butch heard Chiron's hooves before he saw them. It must've have taken quite a bit of effort for the centaur to enter the clustered cabin. The Activities Director pushed through the campers and entered the bathroom. He took one look at the rainbow and nodded.

"I-I don't understand," Butch shook his head, "Why are you nodding?"

"You've been claimed," Chiron muttered quietly.

"Claimed?" Butch whispered. Could it be true? Did he finally have a godly parent?

Chiron helped Butch to his feet and allowed him to lean on his back for support. He turned to the throng of assembled campers. "Hail Butch," he announced, "Son of Iris, goddess of the rainbow, messenger of the gods."


	2. End notes

And that was the end of my second ever Percy Jackson fanfiction, which I didn't actually write for the sake of writing fanfiction but actually for Butch.

If you've read my other Percy Jackson story (Post Potter Depression, currently ongoing), you may have noticed that Rick Riordan's character of Butch was mentioned quite a few times. (More times than you'd find in the books themselves, at any case.)

My love affair with Butch began the first time I read The Lost Hero. His name was Butch; he was big and macho and had a face like a pile of bricks, while at the same time being the son of the goddess of rainbows. He also happened to be one of the camp's best equestrians. "Rainbows and ponies," as Leo put it. And his name is _Butch_. This guy is one of Riordan's best creations to date, in every single book he's ever written. To me, he's right up there with Percy.

I love Butch so much, I even made a website about him. You can find this website by typing in butch-appreciation-life dot Tumblr dot com. (Hopefully that sort-of-but-not-really link works.) The website isn't complete yet, as I had to disconnect my home internet a month after I started it, and it's temporarily in the hands of a friend of mine who is not quite as enthusiastic about the character as I am, but once we get some more submissions, we'll be up and running and good to go. The website contains (or will contain) pictures, GIFs, stories, jokes, headcanon and all other things inspired by Butch. People who are a part of this appreciation life are called "The Butchachos" and our motto is "We appreciate Butch with our lives."

This story is going to be the first fanfiction submission to the website. We haven't quite got any of those yet, and I'm hoping this story is going to encourage some of our Butchachos and others outside the group to make up their own stories inspired by Butch. I really enjoyed writing this story, and I hope other do as well.

I'm putting this story up on fanfiction dot net because I can. And I hope that you, the readers, are encouraged to write your own stories about Butch, whether it be a one-shot about Butch's life at camp or a fully-fledged, thirty-two chapter long novella involving Butch on a quest to find the magical vase of drachmas at the end of the rainbow which he needs to return to R.O.F.L before his mother throws a tantrum and makes it rain gluten-free cupcakes over all of America.

Ninja out. Peace.


End file.
